


Too Late To Pull Myself Together Now

by kianisabitch



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bed-Wetting, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dark May Parker (Spider-Man), Dissociation, Foster Care, Hero Worship, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Molestation, Non-con incest, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Abuse, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, author doesn't believe in time lines, author needs a serious hug, it's gross...., this is long- so I promise you the tags will change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-08-10 18:00:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20139649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kianisabitch/pseuds/kianisabitch
Summary: “He got to leave this world,” She was snarling by then, “He got to leave everything behind and he left me here with a bed wetting, pathetic little freak that I’m not even related to who’s good for nothing but a fuck.”Peter doesn’t remember the feeling of falling away from his body, but he remembers waking up in a wet bed, in May’s wet bed, and he remembers May pushing him off the bed and snarling at him and he remembers the punching.ORIn the wake of her husband's death, May Parker starts molesting her 12 year old nephew. This goes on for a while, until he is taken away and sent to foster care where things are equally as bad for the boy. Eventually Tony need's Spider-Man to help him in civil war, but he's not expecting to find the boy broken and abused in a foster home.





	1. you're gone but you're not forgot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ashleyparker2815](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashleyparker2815/gifts).

> Please read the tags for trigger warnings. This fic details graphic molestation of a 12 year old by his aunt, physical abuse, dissociation, PTSD and age regression as a coping mechanism. 
> 
> This a gift for my friend Ashley. She is an amazing writer and is swapping a gift fic with me, which you should definitely check out! (as well as the rest of the fics because they're great)

He remembers the first night it happened, but only in flicker flashing memories and bits and pieces of consciousness that slip and fade and fray at the edges like they are the corners of the worn photograph of his parents he has hidden in his sock drawer.

  


He remembers the stench of alcohol on her breath, portent and thick and heavy in the air, as she whispers that he looks just like Ben. But Ben was never his father and Peter barely looked like him at all and when May’s hand wrapped around places her hand should never be, well those are the moments he can’t remember like they are lost puzzle pieces in his brain.

  


He tries to piece it together, but he can only ever remember the smell of alcohol and the feeling of her hands on his genitals and his hips and in his hair and his mouth on hers and a thick hand wrapped around the base of his neck, pushing down.

  


He was 12 the first time it happened, and the sight of May’s naked body is burned into the back of his eyelids just like Ben’s bloody, breathless form had burned there for almost a year prior. He had been present when his uncle was shot. He remembers the taste of city air thick in his lungs, the sound of sirens and blood so red it looked like pools of melted rubies and dull red sapphires. 

  


He tried to remind himself that Ben was only dead because of him and regardless of it hurting every time May touches him, he probably deserves it for being the reason his uncle is no longer there.

  


He should be punished for taking May’s husband away and he knows it.

  


May never treats it like a punishment, however. It is more a transaction. A ‘you killed my husband and now you’re the only sexual pleasure a get’ transaction. A ‘I’m lonely and you’re too small, too young, to fight’ transaction’. A ‘I’m going to take everything from you and leave nothing in return’ transition.

  


Peter thinks they are lousy transactions, because he never truly gains anything other than nightmares and bruises. Peter wonders if it is a transaction at all or if May is simply stealing from him. 

  


She always whispers that he looks like Ben when she does it and Peter tricks himself into thinking that it’s all for the best; he tries to trick himself into thinking that he’s helping his Aunt.

  


He never questions how the naked body of her 12 year old nephew reminds her of her dead husband who was in his mid to late forties. He never questions how his Star Wars bed sheets could possibly be confused for their dark grey ones or how his cries to ‘stop’ and ‘no, please don’t’ could ever be confused for moans of pleasure or enthusiastic consent. 

  


He probably should’ve questioned it. But he never did and he kept his head down and his mouth shut and his body still as his aunt’s hands roamed up and down his young, naked form. He was only there for May’s pleasure and he knows it. 

  


* * *

  


He doesn’t remember everything, in fact he often wonders if there are entire days missing from his consciousness. He wonders if there is a secret side of Peter that appears when the monsters come to play that is so disconnected from his own sense of self that they feel like separate entities entirely. He fleetingly wonder if that Peter was happier than him or simply an emotional container for the bad things he seems to forget like they never happened. 

  


Sometimes he finds himself being pulled from a cloud of darkness, like he was waking up from sort of screwed up sleep, and he is somewhere that he doesn’t recognize or can’t trace the steps for having gotten there in the first place. 

  


He does know that it continued happening from that point like clockwork, however. Every week May was drunk and every week there were hands on him in places that make him want to vomit and claw his eyes out and cry for help from someone who’s never listening.

  


Sometimes he remembers and sometimes he forgets and sometimes he dissociates so completely that he feels like he is watching may touch him from an all knowing third perspective.

  


Those are the days he takes five or six consecutive burning hot showers afterwards- scrubbing his young skin until it is hot and red and raw. May yelled at him for making the water bill go up, reminding him that Ben is dead and they don’t have money for kids who want ‘pointlessly long’ showers. He wants to yell at May that she knows why they are not pointless, but his words get caught in his throat and the showers stop altogether; and all he has left is a pack of baby wipes that he hides under his homework in his backpack.

  


He washes up between classes and in public restrooms and sometimes when he knows it is so late at night that May isn’t hovering in the shadows trying to catch him. It stings like alcohol in a cut to hide his bathing, but he would do anything to keep himself from May’s scrutinizing looks and roaming hands. 

  


One day his best friend sees the wipes. He leans forward on his elbow, warm brown skin crushing a grape on the cafeteria table under the pressure of his left elbow. 

  


Peter looked at him sheepishly, but his eyes darted down as Ned spoke to him softly and with more compassion than any 12 year old usually possessed.

  


“I’m not trying to be mean....” the boy’s voice trailed off and he tilted his head as if trying to come up with the perfect phrasing of his next words. “But you always smell a little bad, Peter, and if you ever need a shower .... or anything, you can always come to my house.”

  


Peter’s face was as bright as an overripe strawberry. He knew that Ned meant well, but having your best friend tell you in no uncertain terms that you stink stung like he had been slapped and he wanted to curl up into a ball and let tears overtake his face like a waterfall.

  


The boy nodded his head once, overgrown, unkempt curls covering his eyes. Peter’s hands then darted up to pull the hood over his face. The combination of the long, neglected bangs and sweatshirt made him feel invisible.

  


Peter liked feeling invisible.

  


* * *

  


Peter shot up from his bed like he was being electrocuted. His hands scrambled to grip the wet sheets close to his body, clinging to them and looking for warmth. But the urine soaked sheets only made him feel a chill run over his entire small body and it feels itchy and raw against his skin. 

  


The boy stuffed his right forearm into his mouth, biting down in order to keep his sobs quiet. He was terrified of waking up his Aunt.

  


He sat there for what felt like hours, one arm around his legs as he rocked back and forth and the other still in his mouth. Little drops of blood tasted like acid on his tongue, but the boy never moved his arm from his mouth. 

  


Eventually, he fell back asleep in the soiled bed. He knew that he wasn’t allowed a shower and he was too distraught to move anyways.

  


When he woke up, the stench of urine was so strong in the room that the women looming above him calls him a ‘disgusting freak’ while gagging over the scent.

  


She slaps him right on the face and it stings like thorns and May makes him stay home from school for almost a week, claiming the boy had the flu, until the bruise is mostly faded and there is no suspicion left.

  


May always pretended to act like the perfect Aunt in public. She was the ideal image of a grieving widow, still being there for her child to everyone around them and supporting their tiny broken family. But the public image slipped when the doors closed and the May he was left with was a monster.

  


* * *

  


His bed is wet almost every day for months and May eventually makes him start sleeping in the bathtub (when he was not in May’s own bed). It was December by then and his entire body shivered at his wet skin’s perpetual contact with the cold basin. His shivers were as large as small magnitude earthquakes and those are the days Peter remember’s in shaking and shivering and self hating thoughts that creep through his body like weeds.  


  


* * *

  


That Christmas, May got him no toys. He figured 12 was just too old for gifts or maybe May finally stopped loving him all together. But then May called him into her room that night and Peter realizes that he didn’t understand the type of gifts that were supposed to be given that Christmas. 

  


“You look just like him,” May whispered into his ear. Her eyes are glazed over and her breath smells of vodka and skittles and those little packets of 0 calorie flavoring you pour into water bottles.

  


“It should’ve been you.” She whispered into his ear again, her voice choking and wobbling with tears. “You should’ve never taken Ben away from me.”

  


Her hand wrapped around his exposed penis and Peter felt himself almost fall away completely from his body. He felt like he was hanging on by a thread as May stroked the skin up and down and sucked on his neck until he feels painful purple splotches appear on his pale skin.

  


“He got to leave this world,” She was snarling by then, “He got to leave everything behind and he left me here with a bed wetting, pathetic little freak that I’m not even related to who’s good for nothing but a fuck.”

  


Peter doesn’t remember the feeling of falling away from his body, but he remembers waking up in a wet bed, in May’s wet bed, and he remembers May pushing him off the bed and snarling at him and he remembers the punching. His cheek was cut by her wedding ring, May never takes it off after Ben’s passing, and he remembers it bleeding to the point where May thought he may need stitches. 

  


Hours later the cut was still not done bleeding and May pushed him down onto the closed toilet seat in the bathroom. She let him take the final sip of vodka from the bottom of the bottle she had nearly topped off the night before, spitting at him that she is kind for letting him have any sort of relief, and then she used a sewing needle to stitch the boy back up herself. May was a nurse and she knew what she was doing, but Peter swore she made it more painful for the boy out of spite.   
  


  


* * *

  


Ned gave him an Iron Man mask on the first day back from Winter Vacation. It was the only gift Peter had received and not even the boy’s pointed stares at the cut or the way his pudgy fingers move to touch it could make Peter feel upset or even defensive.

  


The boy simply smiles and lets his best friend prod at the cut once, wincing slightly before he covers his face with the mask. 

  


When Peter was younger, his Aunt and Uncle hadn’t let him watch interviews with Tony Stark. They had told him that the man was a bad influence and had tried to keep their nephew sheltered. But with May being so far gone and Ben being dead, well, well Peter was no longer sheltered from anything nonetheless the anomaly which was Tony Stark. 

  


Peter was obsessed with the Man. He spent hours reading articles about the superhero in the public library, watching interviews where his dark eyes and smile twinkle like the glint of the Iron Man during battle footage. His hero worship of the man is a mile long and sometimes Peter fantasizes about Iron Man coming to save him from his Aunt. He imagines the way Tony would smile at him and ruffle his hair and he finds it to be the perfect escape from the shit show that is otherwise his life. 

  


He imagines what it would feel like to be hugged by the man and the next night May pushes him onto her bed, he tries to hold onto those thoughts like they are grains of sand falling through his fingers at the ocean. He imagines sunshine and warmth and the sound of Mr. Stark’s laugh as the woman uses his body in ways that make him want to simply stop existing all together. 

  


* * *

  


Eventually May find the mask. She smashes it with a hammer, one of Ben’s old tools that they rarely look at or use anymore, and smirks at him like destroying something he loves brought her happiness.

  


Peter cried that night as May stroked him and kissed his neck and he snarled at the women. 

  


“You can break the mask, but you can pry my love for him out of my cold dead hands.” Peter regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. 

  


May laughed at him like he was a kicked puppy trying to defend himself and pins him down by the neck as she violates him. 

  


The nest day, his neck had a collar of bruises and then they were back to the lying and the skipping school and Peter felt like May was isolating him on purpose. 

  


She assaults him more in that week than she had in nearly a month. Every night she pulls him into her bed and whispers that he reminds her of Ben and touches his body and makes the boy cry. Peter cried so much, he felt like there were rain clouds stuck in his eyes. 

  


He felt like was falling and suffocating and drowning all at the same time and he wakes up drenched in his own urine every morning. The pee doesn’t scare him as much as his bloody underwear, however, and he tries to keep it all in perspective. 

  


He watches Iron Man footage on the computer in the kitchen when he was particularly scared and May was out at work. He fantasizes about Iron Man coming to save him and then he makes sure to erase the browser history when he was done, because he’s smart and doesn’t want to be caught obsessing over Tony Stark again by May. 

  


* * *

  


“Are you sure you’re ok?” Ned’s mouth was full of half eaten peanut and jelly sandwich when he spoke and Peter recoiled from the sight. 

  


He finds chewing with your mouth open gross, but then again it was not as gross as the clear, sticky substance that had leaked from him at May’s touch the previous night. It had felt good at first and that had confused him because nothing about his Aunt touching him was supposed to feel good. It was supposed to feel bad and dirty and sick and his mind held those feelings, but he felt like his body had betrayed himself. He had felt pleasure from her touch and if he had felt pleasure, did that mean he wanted it? Did that mean that it was ok?

  


Peter scrunched his nose up. He had never wanted it, he reminded himself as his eyes met Ned’s. His best friend’s eyes were a rich dark brown and full of concern when Peter looked at him. Peter couldn’t blame him for being concerned either, seeing as bruises creeped over his skin like vines and he smelled bad and his eyes were red rimmed, dark bags sitting deep in the sockets. 

  


“I’m fine” He whispered, picking at his half eaten banana and the turkey and cheese sandwich he had nicked from a corner store that morning. 

  


Peter wasn’t fine. He was embarrassed and young and abused his body was betraying him and he felt dirty. He wanted to confide all of this in Ned. He wanted the boy to help, push him to spill and then get him as far away from May as humanly possible. He wanted help, he needed help. 

  


But something was stopping him from speaking. His vocal chords were blocked, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he choked on his own spit. He couldn’t share with Ned. He simply couldn’t.

  


He wasn’t sure if he couldn’t share because he wanted to protect May or because he was scared or because he knew that he had no one else left in this world to take care of him if May left him. It wasn’t like May was actually taking care of him, but at least he had a roof over his head and he clung to the false love the woman had for him like a lifeline

  


In addition, part of him was simply embarrassed and did not understand the magnitude of the issue. He did not understand the extent of how bad what May was doing to him truly was. He knew that it hurt when May touched him, it made him feel dirty and like vomit was crawling up his throat and out of his mouth. But he also knew that he deserved it for being the reason Uncle Ben was dead. 

  


Ned sighed at him, taking a long sip of strawberry lemonade before he continued speaking. “You would tell me if something was wrong, right?” 

  


Peter nodded his head quickly. He knew that he would never tell Ned, but at least he could make his best friend feel even a little bit better. This was his situation to deal with and his misery to live through. 

  


Ned reached down to his backpack, the zipper was as loud as his beating heart and Peter tapped bounced his leg up and down in apprehension. “I got you something,” The boy pulled an object from his bag and plopped it down on the table, next to their half eaten lunches. “I know something is wrong, Peter, and I know you’re no telling me everything. But I’m hoping he can protect you even when I can’t.” 

  


Peter’s eyes lit up when he saw the object, his hand darting out to grab it as if Ned may take it back from him within a moments notice. He felt embarrassed at first, but he was used to things, people, being taken away from him and he really wanted this gift. 

  


Ned chuckled at him softly, “Take it. It’s a gift, dude.”

  


Peter smiled softly, muttering a soft thank you before tucking the Iron Man plush toy under his arm. He placed his chin on the top of the toy, rubbing his face over the soft fabric. He promised himself that he would make sure to keep the toy hidden this time. He refused to let May take it away or break it, because it was a gift from his best friend and it already made him feel safe. 

  


* * *

  
  


“You freak!” Peter’s entire body flinched as a glass bottle hit the wall next to his head. Alcohol and glass flew everywhere, hitting his face and his bare upper shoulders. 

  


“You need to bring him back!” May screamed again and Peter dropped to his knees, his body working without his permission. He cowered down and away from her, shaking and contorting his face in pain and curling his fingers into a weak, limp fist. 

  


She was drunk and the stench of alcohol made his goosebumps rise on his skin. His hands, even when formed in a loose fist, shook like autumn leaves and Peter felt like he was falling apart. 

  


“I wish you would die already,” May’s screaming had turned to loud, choking sobs.Tears ran down her face and she swung her hands back and forth in anger; Peter was glad she no longer had anything to throw. 

  


“I can’t believe he left me here with an ungrateful brat like you.” The boy winced at the words. He knew it was true, but it still stung and it made him feel like he was spiraling. 

  


Peter pressed his back against the wall, the pain of broken shards of glass digging into his shoulder blade and the alcohol dripping into it making him feel numb and like he was the live end of striped wire all at the same time. He was terrified of his aunt and the pain and he wanted his Iron Man toy to keep him safe. But he was all alone here, it was only May and him and the stench of alcohol and his shaking hands and the ghost of his dead uncle. 

  


“I just want him back…” May slumped onto the floor next to Peter. Her arm wrapped around him and Peter’s body stiffened as she ran her small hand through his hair and hugged him close. If it had been any other circumstances, he would’ve leaned into the touch and feeling of comfort; but this was May and he knew the woman’s affection was an act of deceit. 

  


“I miss him so much, Peter.”

  


It was the first time that May had called him Peter while she was in this state and it had been months of the same abuse by this point. It made him realize that the woman really did understand that she was doing these heinous acts to her 12 year old nephew. She could pretend like he was Ben or even a consenting adult who wanted it. No, this was Peter. 12 year old Peter. He nephew Peter. A child. She knew that he was a child.

  


May leaned in, kissing his neck as Peter’s entire body stilled. He wanted to scream, but his body wasn’t working with him and he simply scrunched his eyes shut and focused on his breathing. He imagined what it would be like if Iron Man blasted through the window and forced May to leave him alone, what it would feel like for the man to give him a hug and help him leave this place entirely. 

  


May’s lips felt chapped and sticky at the same time as she trailed kisses down his neck and chest and then his groin. The boy clenched and unclenched his fists as he felt her pull his pants away and kiss his bare skin. 

  


Maybe one day Tony Stark would actually come and save him. 

  


His skin felt like it was on fire and he focused only on the feeling of the glass cutting his skin open. He focused on the pain and the feeling of spiraling like he was a burning hot meteor barreling towards earth. He felt dirty. This entire thing had been going on for so long but he had never felt this dirty and he wanted to scream and cry and be saved by Iron Man and all he wanted was to be happy again. 

  


Peter feared he would never be happy again. 

  


“You’re not as good as him,” May’s words were slurred and heavy, she sounded so far gone and Peter felt stuck like he was a mouse caught in a trap. “But at least I’m not alone anymore.” She kissed the inside of his thigh and Peter wanted to throw up and scream and cry and hit his head against a concrete wall all at the same time. 

  


“I can’t deal with being alone anymore.” May’s words felt like ice in his veins, creeping and curling and coercing him into excusing the woman’s behaviors. He didn’t want May to be alone either. 

  


Peter let his legs spread farther, his head tilted back at the feeling of May’s lips, wet and warm and poisonous on his skin. He felt himself falling and crumbling and spiraling away as the woman touched him, stroking and licking and biting and caressing. 

  


He felt like he was half there as she finally wrapped her hand around his genitals, tugging at him and then her mouth. And then, Peter was gone. And he only ever remembers the darkness. 


	2. I can't really think right now

There is something to be said for the feeling of not feeling at all. Losing sensations and moments and memories and sights and smells like they are flower petals or autumn leaves falling from a tree or a constant drip of water from a leaky sink, until you feel like all you can remember are bits and pieces of broken memories. 

The next few months of Peter’s life feel like they are measured in moments he does nothing but forget. Bits and pieces and giant chunks are missing like they never existed at all and he is left only with feelings of dread and sadness in the pit of his stomach and lingering bruises and cuts on his skin and a sense of undeniable confusion. 

Peter remembers waking up on days he is not allowed to go to school, or leave the house at all for that matter, to the stench of urine and alarming red and white stains on the insides of his milky white thighs. He remembers the bruises like somebody dipped their fingers in an ink pot and then grabbed his face or his thighs are his ass menacingly; never in the pain of the moment they were inflicted in the first place and only in the feelings of pain that linger afterwards. 

The contusions look like flowers under his skin, curling and twisting and contorting under a thin, pale veil. But they hurt and the boy refuses to find any beauty in the painful marks that seem to appear after the nights when he feels like he can no longer remember anything at all; the nights when he can remember the feelings of drowning more than anything else. 

Sometimes May grumbles about not being able to remember anything as well, but it leaves Peter beyond confused. He never drinks the alcohol May downs like it is straight water. He simply forgets pieces and memories like he lost those moments all together. And he is left struggling to make sense of what he has left. 

* * *

At some point Peter starts wondering if he should change his name to Ben, because he hears the name of his dead uncle more than he hears his own name. At first it made him upset, but he slowly started to cherish every time he hears the word Ben because it’s the only time May’s voice is kind and soft and sweet; and it is the only positive thing Peter can attribute to the floating feeling and the losing memories and the feeling of spinning out of control that happens around his Aunt.

After the night Peter spent digging broken glass shards out of his pale skin, May had been sweeter to him on occasion. She would be all nice words and gentle gestures and it made Peter want to scream because May is his aunt and should never be touching him in ways that make his skin feel tight and hot and sweaty and clammy and feverish and crawl like there are bugs trapped under his skin all at the same time. 

However, the sweeter she becomes the easier it becomes for Peter to fall into the habits of not recognizing the destructive behavior; and with time, he begins to wonder if May’s actions were ever problematic in the first place. 

His aunts words twist and turn and contort his thoughts and make him wonder why he finds fault in the way the woman acts. She is so clearly grieving her deceased husband and Peter feels like he is getting in the way of her processing. 

It makes him feel guilty and he is left scrambling and screaming and searching for some sort of sense of safety and love in a world that has done nothing but hate him. He is searching for affection from a woman that touches him in ways that make his skin crawl and he feels like he is falling out of his own life and into another one entirely. 

* * *

“Are you ok, Peter?” The voice of his teacher sounded foggy and far away and the boy felt like he was hearing it from underwater.

A large, rough hand touched his shoulder and the boy’s entire body flinched like he was the live end of a wire. His body was screaming at him to run away and hide- trying to convince him that any touch was bad touch and that his teacher was going to hurt him or touch him in ways that made him want to vomit. 

“Please don’t” Peter’s voice was hoarse and scratchy, and the pressure of the hand pulled away quickly. 

The boy glanced over his shoulder with tear filled eyes, looking straight into the eyes of his second period honors math teacher. Mr. Reynolds was staring at him with concern, his body physically leaning forward, as if he wanted to give Peter a hug or ask the boy what was wrong. 

But the boy was closed off and sad and vulnerable and he simply dropped his head into his folded arms on the desks. He didn’t want to talk to Mr. Reynolds about this, about anything. He wanted to keep his head down and his mouth shut and focus on he could become invisible to everyone around him. He was done with being visible. He wanted to be gone. He wanted to be part of the overwhelming sense of darkness in his life. 

He took slow, deep breathes in and out until he eventually heard the heavy fall of feet walking away and he could suddenly breathe again. 

* * *

Nights were the worst for Peter. He’s either forced to sleep in May’s bed or the bathtub and the boy isn’t sure which is worse. When he’s in the May’s bed, he rarely ever sleeps. He forces himself to stay awake for hours on end, terrified of having a nightmare that causes him to scream out for help so loudly it wakes his aunt or wetting the bed like the ‘nasty little freak’ his aunt always tell him he is. 

On the nights he spends in the bathtub, Peter lets his eyes drift shut almost immediately. But he feels like he is drowning in a sea of porcelain and his own urine and his screams echo in the small space like it is a cave. 

One time, he tried to open to leave the bathroom after a nightmare- wanting to breath fresh air and stretch his legs and escape. But that is the night he discovered that the door is locked from the outside and he will always be trapped in the hellish space until May comes back and lets him out in the morning- or in some cases so many mornings later that his belly rumbles after only drinking water straight from the tap for the entirety of three days. 

* * *

One day in health class, they watch a documentary about child sexual abuse. He watches the experts on screen talk about it clinically, reducing the way his aunt touches him to matter of fact symptoms and medical terms. 

Peter wants to vomit when he can’t help but seeing himself in the little girl on the screen talking about how her father touched her in her ‘no-no places’ and how she told an adult and now is in a new family that treats her better than her father ever did.

But the girl is far younger than him and a girl instead of a boy and being hurt by her father and not her aunt and it makes Peter feel like he is drowning in self doubt and fear and apprehension. He feels inadequate and dumb and small and helpless and it makes him want to scream. 

But instead he physically curls his body up on the chair and keeps his head down and focuses on the feeling of not feeling at all. 

* * *

“You know I love you right?” May’s words are heavy and slurred. “I love you so much, Ben.” 

Her lips are on his and Peter wants to scream because it feels wrong and dumb and dirty and he is not his uncle. He misses his uncle. He misses his Aunt- the one who’s lips would never be on his. The one who loved him unconditionally. 

Her larger hand was caressing his crotch over his underwear and Peter feels like he is hanging onto his sanity and sense of self by a thread. When the elastic of the clothing pull away, however, he feels like he is falling and he can’t remember anything past that point. Only suffocating darkness. 

* * *

When he goes to the bathroom the next day, Peter nearly throws up when he sees the bruises on his thighs and the little welts on his back side, that he can only see when he twists his body at just the right angle. He can’t remember how he got them, but they concern him and they hurt and he feels like he is spinning out of control faster than the meteor that wiped the dinosaurs out. 

* * *

Him and Ned are paired up in health class to work on a project. Their topic is about the signs of child sexual abuse and when Peter goggles the symptoms for the first slide of their powerpoint, he feels like he is falling because he recognizes himself in the words glowing on the screen of the school computer. 

##  ** _Signs that a child may have been sexually abused_ **

_ Physical warning signs: _

_ Sexually transmitted infections (STIs) _

_ Signs of trauma to the genital area, such as unexplained bleeding, bruising, or blood on the sheets _

_ Behavioral signs: _

_ Sexual behavior that is inappropriate for the child’s age _

_ Bedwetting or soiling the bed, if the child has already outgrown these behaviors _

_ Not wanting to be left alone with certain people or being afraid to be away from primary caregivers, especially if this is a new behavior _

_ Tries to avoid removing clothing to change or bathe _

_ Emotional signs: _

_ Excessive talk about or knowledge of sexual topics _

_ Resuming behaviors that they had grown out of, such as thumbsucking _

_ Nightmares or fear of being alone at night _

_ Excessive worry or fearfulness _

  
  


It makes him want to scream because he knows what May does to him can’t be what is being described on the website. But the words ring true and it makes him feel uneasy and sick to his stomach and when Ned asks him what is wrong, the boy simply turns around in his seat and vomits all over the floor. 

He gets sent home after that and the school chalks it up to the stomach bug. But Peter is sure it is something entirely different and a seed of doubt is planted thick and heavy in his stomach. 

* * *

He isn’t sure when, but he remembers May’s mouth on his lower body like it is the flashing of a dying lightbulb. It sparks every few seconds and like he has lost entire chunks of time, Peter’s suddenly in new positions. One second he is flat on his back fully clothed. And then her mouth is on his. And then her hands are in his hair. And then her mouth is on his crotch. And then he forgets everything until he is waking up on the floor of his Aunt’s room, in a puddle of his own pee and with a black eye. 

* * *

“Betty and Flash sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” 

The entire group of seventh grade students laugh and pound on their lunch table in delight at the juvenile song, they scrunch their lips together making smooching sounds and mock their friends with amused, light hearted tones. 

Peter keeps his head down throughout the song, rubbing his fingers over the soft fabric of the Iron Man plush he has hidden in his bag, until the topic strays in another direction and his head snaps up.

“You guys should totally have sex or something ” A girl with soft blonde hair and circle glasses taunted, clearly not understanding what it meant to say that. She was giggling at the prospect of her two classmates having sex and it made Peter want to vomit because sex was only something he could view as negative. He could never laugh at the way May’s hands on him made his skin crawl. 

“Isn’t that just like kissing, though?” Another student, a boy with light honey brown skin and a shaved head, asked earnestly. 

Peter felt queasy. He wanted to run away or scream at them that they were wrong and stupid and dumn and poorly informed. But instead of doing any of those things, he snapped his head up and sneered like he was some sort of feral animal. 

“Flash would have to stick it in her for it to be real fucking.” He said it matter of factly, because May had told him the exact same thing last night when she was trying to line his penis up to her own body with her large, menacing hands. He was just trying to report back to his peers what he knew, he wanted them to know that he was smart and knowledgeable and knew what he was talking about. 

But instead, everyone was silent and staring at him. And then the lunch monitor came over and everyone started talking all at once, until the only thing that could be heard was that Peter had said something ‘inappropriate’ to his female classmate that had involved the use of the ‘F word’. 

* * *

“I’m worried about him.” Peter could hear his guidance counselor tell his Aunt in a hushed tone, that he was most likely unaware the boy could hear through the slot of open space at the bottom of the door. 

“He’s displaying pretty classic warning signs of a child being sexually abused and I don’t want to get CPS involved, because it may jeopardize his relationship with you… or he may be taken away over something that is not your fault.”

Peter heard his Aunt thank the man in a sickly sweet tone, “I would never want my poor nephew taken away from me just because some creep is preying on him. It makes me sick to my stomach to think that someone could possibly be doing this to my poor child.” 

Peter balled his hands into fists cracking his knuckles and sneering at the floor in contempt.

“I’ll make sure to take him to a therapist or talk to him or simply try to get to the bottom of this,” May threw in a few wet sobs Peter knew were fake. “I would never want him to be hurting on my watch.”

Peter almost laughed at the irony of that statement, but he kept his lips pressed shut when he tilted his head up slightly to look at the secretary clacking away at her keyboard. He wanted to scream that May wasn’t just letting him get hurt on her watch, but was doing the hurting. But his body felt like lead and he couldn’t make his voice work and all he could do was sit there and feel like everything was crashing and crumbling to pieces around him. 

The door creaked open and his Aunt went to stand over him. Peter’s skin felt like it was on fire in the place where her skin met his as she rested her hand with false innocence on the place where his shoulder and neck connected. 

His guidance counselor, a bald man in his early forties, smiled at them like they were the picture of an innocent family trying to get by in a rough time. 

“You’re going to be suspended for two days, Peter.” The boy felt like every ounce of oxygen was pushed out of his lungs and like he was drowning on dry land. “You need to understand that it’s not ok to say inappropriate things to your classmates,” The man sighed, as if the words hurt. “But I also want you to take this time to remember that you can tell your Aunt or me or anyone trusted adult here at school if anything is happening to you that makes you sad or uncomfortable, we’re here for you, Peter.” 

The hand on his shoulder tightened uncomfortably and Peter found himself nodding his head in false understanding, like he was simply May’s puppet and doing exactly what he knew she needed him to do to convince people that they were alright and that nothing bad was happening. The man smiled at the response, before turning to May to explain the conditions of the suspension. 

And then, like he was never there in the first place, Peter felt himself fade away from this moment and conversation. And then he was surrounded by darkness and he was gone.

* * *

Hands. There were hands everywhere. On his penis and in his hair and heavy on his tongue. There were hands and there was pain and there was darkness. 

* * *

The boy wakes up to the stench of urine burning the inside of his nostrils. His body is wet and shaky and there are raised red bumps on the insides of his thighs and crotch from sitting in his own filth for too long. The bumps are far less concerning, however, then the bruises and the blood and it makes Peter want to vomit. 

The boy’s body is contorted at an odd angle. Limbs stretched and bent and clammy skin pressed against the cool porcelain of the bathtub. It makes him shiver and shake and he knows deep inside that if he stays in this position any longer his body will simply stop caring and working all together and he will succumb to the darkness once more. 

Peter bends his legs over the side of the tub, pushing and then standing on shaking legs. He wants to scream at the pressure, but he forces himself to walk approximately 3 and half steps before collapsing onto his knees in front of the backpack May had tossed in after him when she had locked him in for the night. She had rambled on and on about doing his homework, in her drunken state having forgotten that the boy was suspended, but Peter hadn’t corrected her because his backpack was a hot commodity. 

The sound of the zipper opening made his skin crawl, because he was terrified of May discovering his plan, but he did it like he was ripping a bandaid off and within a second his bag was open. 

Tentatively the boy pulled out the Iron Man plush from his bag, cradling the gift from his best friend close to his chest like it was a lifeline. It smelled like pineapple and cinnamon and laundry detergent, just like Ned did, and it made him feel safe both because Ned was protecting him- but Tony Stark was protecting him as well. 

He wanted nothing more than for Iron Man to come save him from his Aunt. He daydreamed that the sound of his stomach rumbling were repulsers whirring as he drank water from the sink and pretended like his Aunt wasn’t starving him. He tried to focus on what hugging Tony Stark would feel like and what he would smell like and if it would feel better or worse than hugging his plush Iron Man. He focused on anything but the feelings of being present in his own body and with the thought of Tony Stark on his mind, he felt himself fade completely away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhhh I'm so sorry that this took so long to get out. This is the type of fic that is both exhausting to write emotionally and also requires lots of thought and research and self reflection on my own vibes to make sure I'm writing things realistically. Dissociation in particular is something I'm having a hard time to write even thought lord knows I know how that feels. 
> 
> Anyways, leave a comment!! They make me happy.

**Author's Note:**

> So that was the first chapter of what I imagine being a VERY long fic. 
> 
> I feel quite vulnerable posting this so feedback/comments in general would be much appreciated !!!


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